


Tabula Rasa

by JackalopingIntoTheVoid



Series: Anyone Know This John Doe? [3]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Anxiety, Baking, Fish out of Water, Found Family, Multi, Overwhelmed at the Store, Shopping, Welcome to my AU where Hunt the Truth is canon and Halo 5 doesn't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-08 14:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17388218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackalopingIntoTheVoid/pseuds/JackalopingIntoTheVoid
Summary: The man who has forgotten he is the Master Chief once battled armies and inter-galactic parasites, came far too close to destroying all life in the galaxy before turning around and saving it many times more. Now, he has new challenges to face... and he can't shoot his way out of these ones.





	1. Morning Coffee

He’d wanted to give something back, and he’d learned that Mochou liked sweet black coffee first thing in the morning. Such a tiny thing, really, but he’d done  _nothing_  for  **four days**. His initial sickness he could grudgingly allow, but the second day? A trip to the hospital had been necessary, as had the recording, but beyond that? What had he done for her, for anyone, while they’d been doing so much for him?

Well, he had to admit that it had been good to just sit and think about everything that had happened. He didn’t get to do that often. (He frowned at that thought. How did he know that?) But that still didn’t do anything for his friends. And it certainly didn’t excuse the third and fourth days, which he’d spent almost exclusively eating far too much and falling asleep without meaning to. Mochou and Sampoorna both insisted it was fine, that it meant he needed the rest, but he still woke up at precisely 0400 every morning. Spending literal hours lying in bed wide awake only to pass out again by 0815 was completely ridiculous and left him feeling appallingly lazy. (He might test out whatever ASMR was if Tenzin thought it might help him get in sync with everyone else.)

Which was how John had ended up staring down the coffee machine at 0750 on Day 5. It certainly wasn’t a military standard-issue pod machine, and he didn’t exactly have a lot of experience with those either.

This looked like it dealt with actual grown-and-harvested coffee and had thirty-four grind settings. That was too many grind settings. It had to be; how many different ways of grinding coffee could there possibly be?

He was embarrassed to feel relief when Tenzin appeared in his usual orange glow.

“How does Mochou make her coffee?”

* * *

The incessant beeping of the alarm eventually woke Mochou up. There were kinder alarms, but none of them worked for her. The second after she’d turned it off, however, there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“Qǐng jìn…”

The door opened, and in came John. After rubbing her eyes and shoving her glasses onto her face, she realised there also came her favourite mug, full of her morning coffee.

Oh, John was her  _favourite_  person. “Xiè xiè!”

She reached out with grabby hands, and John smiled so gently that his hard face seemed to transform as he carefully handed it to her.

“Xiǎo shì yī zhuāng.”

Mochou damn near dropped the mug. The words were slow and careful, unpractised but correct– and not what she was expecting even if she’d known he spoke Mandarin. She supposed it was natural for him to feel close to her after all the time they’d spent together this week, but she found herself surprised and flattered all the same.

She only realised how widely she was smiling when her cheeks started hurting. Trying to get her face back under control, she sipped her coffee. It was  _perfect_.

“You didn’t have to do this for me.” She sipped again, sighing happily. “But I’m really glad you did.”

That seemed to perk John up even more and gods, what a sweetheart he was. She was going to tell him how much she appreciated him every chance she got. He deserved to hear it and she got the feeling he usually didn’t.

The grumble of a hungry stomach broke the comfortable quiet, and it wasn’t Mochou’s. It wasn’t a surprise; John ate a  _lot_.

Feeling more prepared for consciousness now she had some caffeine in her system, she got out of bed. “Come on, I’ll make you some jian bing! We’ll see what toppings there are and you can see which ones you like.”

John demurred, because of course he did, because the last few days had made it clear that somewhere at some point John had learned that having another person see to his basic needs was an unwelcome inconvenience to them, and in an effort not to think about that too much and start getting angry Mochou just ploughed on to the kitchen.

“Anything I can do?” John asked after watching her collect eggs and flour for the batter.

“No no, that’s okay! I’ve got this, they’re really quick to make!” She turned to smile at him, and found him looking lost. “John? You okay?”

His eyes stopped roving the kitchen surfaces and snapped back to her. He nodded, but his expression didn’t change.

Mochou made sure to keep smiling until she’d turned back to what she was doing. He always looked so worried when she frowned, like he was waiting for bad news.

She had to accept that John was going to struggle. That it would take time for him to feel comfortable here. He was an amnesiac who was so fresh out of the military he responded automatically with military time when asked and took a moment to mentally translate whenever he heard it otherwise. There was no way he wasn’t going to feel out of place.

But it made her heart ache all the same. So far there was a sweet and thoughtful man beneath that rigid exterior and she honestly wanted a word with whoever thought it was ethically sound to enlist such a gentle soul.

For now, however, she was going to make him a good breakfast to start his day off right. And hopefully, with more good meals and good friends, things would get better.


	2. Beyond the Boundary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John secures the perimeter with assistance from Alouette, then they both head out on a supply run.

Mochou had gone to work, and John was full of breakfast. (He liked breakfast. He liked regular full meals. He really liked not being hungry.) He’d taken his prescribed supplements and wasn’t feeling as drained today. He had no difficulty focusing and facing his handicapped state was not as daunting.

He had to do something. Anything.

Leaving the kitchen, John paused in the hallway. He realised to his chagrin that he didn’t know the layout of the building or how secure it was. That needed to be addressed immediately.

Which was how Alouette Elodiesdottir found him an hour later, standing on the washing machine to check the ceiling corners for planted surveillance devices.

“What are you doing?”

He’d heard her approach, so he didn’t turn from his assessment as he answered calmly. “Security.”

John heard the dull clunk of a mug being set down (he should’ve done coffee for the others, too– tomorrow he would do better) and a response clipped and businesslike. Military.  _Familiar._

“Progress?”

“Mapped the layout, access points secure, basic perimeter check, also secure. Currently sweeping for bugs, east side clear. This is your home, anywhere specific I might miss?”

“Nothing comes to mind, but I can accompany the west sweep and double check the east.”

The brief exchange was so easy and straightforward that John’s knees went weak with relief. He had to take a moment so they didn’t buckle under him. “This room’s clear.” He hopped off the machine, ignoring the sharp flash of pain in his joints, and nodded to Alouette to lead on.

Hopefully she hadn’t noticed his momentary waver, though it was markedly less embarrassing than folding like an M363 motion tracker. He dared not imagine the bollocking he’d get for receiving an injury after crashing to the floor from an appliance he shouldn’t have been on top of.

They pushed forward and covered the west side of the building, and John was glad of Alouette’s assistance. Not only did the sweep get completed faster but Alouette had been keeping this building secure long before John got here. He was confident in her assurance and didn’t feel that nagging desire to go over things a second time. She approved the east side as well, and John felt the long-overdue satisfaction of a completed task settle in.

Alouette picked up her coffee, kept warm by the SMARTmug in her absence, then turned to John.

“We good?”

He nodded, satisfied with their success and awaiting further instructions. Alouette just looked at him for a moment, but seemed to understand.

“When I have drunk this,” she held up her mug briefly, “I will be going shopping for food. Do you want to come with me?”

He felt a smile tug at his lips. It was still weird, constantly being asked what he wanted, how he felt,  _is this okay_. Weird, but not bad. It invited him to stop, take a moment to think– like little reminders, scattered throughout his day. It was nice, having the time to think. Nicer still for people to expect it and allow for it.

So he did. John took that time, running through the pros and cons of a shopping trip to the best of his admittedly limited ability. His main concern was the safety of those in the apartment after they left, which he immediately suppressed. They’d secured the building, this wasn’t exactly a warzone; they’d be  _fine_. His own disadvantage regarding a lack of knowledge on how civilian supply runs worked was outweighed by the information that would be gained by going. His own discomfort with the potential situation didn’t factor in, though he’d be acutely aware of it for the whole trip.

John nodded. “ETD?”

“Five minutes.” Alouette looked him up and down. “We will buy you more clothes as well.”

He kept his expression schooled, but he was definitely pleased to hear that. He was currently wearing one of two lower garments that fit, and this one was a little more on the pinching-sensitive-places side.

“Five minutes.” He confirmed.

* * *

John was starting to regret his decision.

He hadn’t expected so many people to  _stare_.

He felt especially exposed in the ill-fitting clothing, and he held tightly to the blanket that looked more like a shawl around his broad shoulders. It probably didn’t make him any less of a spectacle, but it helped to hold off the brisk chill and gave him a fraction more coverage.

Fighting to keep his eyes on Alouette, John steadfastly ignored the shifting crowds and his heart beating in his throat. He felt certain he was going to get jumped, but Alouette was an ex-ODST and she moved with ease of posture through the throng. He was the unfamiliar element here– he’d follow her lead, no matter how much adrenaline was pumped through his system.

She didn’t stop until they’d reached the clothing section of the megastore, where she turned to him started to speak only to cut herself off with an expression of guilt.

“Are you alright?”

John nodded, but she didn’t seem swayed. Why did no one want to accept that he could continue when he said as much? They were in the middle of a task, a long one at that; he didn’t have time to let something so banal as fear slow them down.

Suddenly, Alouette flung a hand in the air. “Ça alors, the crowds! I did not think.”

“It’s fine.”

“Non, no. I should have at least warned you!”

“I didn’t need to be warned. I knew there’d be crowds.”

Frustratingly, nothing John said seemed to help. She muttered French self-admonishments and English apologies. Even switching to French himself did nothing.

Well, that wasn’t true. She seemed a little more relaxed when the conversation was in French.

Still, no matter how many languages John was conversant in (he wasn’t going to dig into that too deeply right now) he still never knew what to say.

So he was  _almost_  relieved when someone approached them.

Undeterred by the hardened faces staring back at them, the stranger smiled brightly and addressed them with a thick Scottish accent. “Good morning! Welcome to Illume Designs, where the clothes are made to brighten your day! Is there anything I can help you folks with today?”

The chipper spiel was so far off from what John was expecting that he didn’t know how to react. Luckily, Alouette reacted as if this were commonplace.

“My friend, he needs clothes. All the clothes. As you can see, he is bigger than most.”

The stranger– they must have worked at the store, approaching people who looked lost to provide assistance– turned to look up at John and their smile noticeably became strained. “Och, dear, a full wardrobe is it? Underwear and all?”

Attempting to ease the helper, John nodded and calmly answered, “Yes. I don’t have anything else. We’d appreciate the assistance.”

The helper suddenly looked a little paler.

But they rallied quickly, clapping their hands briskly in a way that made John’s nerves jump, and they chuckled nervously.

“Of course, of course! Come this way, we have all the max-end sizes this way, over here, that’s right!”

John lingered behind a little and tried not to frown at the aggressive stance Alouette was taking. Did she perceive the helper’s fear as a threat? He’d have to keep an eye on her for both their sakes.

* * *

Alouette was at her wit’s end with this shrivelled weed of a human being. Poor John was very aware of this guy’s issue and she was ready to shove his excuse for customer service so far up his backside that he’d  _taste_  it.

And worst of all, John was being so polite! He was trying his best to keep up with all the brands and specs and recommendations despite looking hopelessly lost, then came over all worried-looking when Alouette’s thoughts turned particularly murderous.

John had come with her for something to do, not to be subjected to the lowest common denominator. He wanted to get clothes that fit, groceries for the Crew and then go back home– likely as quickly as possible after all this– and Alouette was personally ready to catch the hands of anyone who made that more stressful than it needed to be.

God, just a few days ago she was holding him at  _gunpoint_. How things change.

Still, like isoäiti used to say, weeping does not help at the marketplace– and neither would strangling this shop assistant, no matter how tempting.

“Though uh, y’know, we might not have a lot in stock that’s your um… your. Size.” (If he didn’t stop staring she was going to pluck his eyeballs out.) “I mean, uh– you’re a big, bulky guy! Y’know? Real strong like, could probably flex right out of most things!” He trailed off in awkward laughter.

“So,” Alouette ground out, “we get clothes that  _stretch_. John!”

She regretted her tone when he damn near snapped to attention.

“What colours do you like?”

“Oh, yeah, yep, colour’s very important! Especially with your- your complexion, it’s um, you’d look washed out in most- most uh, so more muted colours–”

“Ta gueule!” Sick of his prattling, she turned to John. “Laisse tomber, il ne sait rien faire de ses dix doigts, celui-là.” She confronted again the hapless assistant, ready for a parting  _casse-toi_ , but John spoke first.

“We’ll take it from here, thank you.”

The assistant looked queasy. “Right! Okay! Ask if you need anything, have a nice day!” He practically  _ran_. Alouette had to restrain herself from spitting at him as he left.

She’d drawn the attention of the other shoppers, but they’d been staring anyway and at least they were quietly keeping their distance. John looked like he wanted to say something about her behaviour but didn’t.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she tried again. “What colours do you like?”

He didn’t answer. He just stared at the max-size clothes, before tentatively brushing his fingertips against a soft cotton tee. She was about to move on when he bit his lip and glanced over.

“I like blue.”

For the first time, Alouette smiled. “Blue is good. We shall find you blue.”

Softly, John smiled back.


	3. Two Steps Forward, One Step Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The supply run hits a setback and Alouette calls for retreat; Mochou is debriefed and does damage control.

It took much longer than Alouette expected to pick out a few sets of clothes for John, especially since she’d decided they would have to splash out on tailored clothes for the long term. He just seemed absolutely baffled by the concept of choosing clothes based on whether or not he  _liked_  them.

His face was actually quite expressive when he wasn’t trying not to be, so it was easy enough to gauge a positive reaction and she’d already seen Mochou brush off his protests at home (Sampoorna did too, but she could be pushy) so Alouette didn’t pay it much mind. When he was keeping his face neutral, however, she needed to put in some work to figure out if he outright didn’t like something or was just unsure. It took a little wheedling to get him to admit he didn’t like how something looked, but getting him to express any kind of opinion on whether things were comfortable or not was  _maddening_.

She was starting to realise that the bigger a deal something was, the more likely John was to put up and shut up. He’d tilt his head or wrinkle his nose and ask ‘why would anyone wear that?’ if he thought something pointless or particularly ugly, but it probably wouldn’t keep him up at night if he did have to wear it. Comfort, on the other hand, was something he didn’t expect and wasn’t going to complain about. Alouette knew part of it was likely a result of pounding dirt in harsh conditions during the war, but his other behaviours hinted at something far more purposeful and it made her violently angry to think about it.

Eventually, she put her foot down and insisted that being comfortable was a key part of the clothes’ purpose and if they didn’t feel good to wear then they were useless. John seemed uncertain at that, but started showing a subtle preference for softer fabrics with minimal textures and once or twice referred to them as ‘downtime clothing’, so it looked like he’d got the message on some level.

Once they had a few good outfits to tide John over, Alouette bought them before ushering him again to the changing rooms so he didn’t have to keep wearing the woefully inadequate ensemble he’d left the house in. She struck up a pleasant conversation with the French-speaking checkout lady (and lambasted the shopping assistant mercilessly), who expressed sympathy for whatever situation had deprived John of his clothes. She probably assumed it was a fire or something, and Alouette declined to speak of it without John’s permission.

He came back while she was writing a complaint about the assistant, wearing the navy blue hoodie and matching elastic-waisted jogging trousers. They both stretched around John’s bulk pretty well (the checkout lady’s appreciative noise attested to that), and with the sky blue heathered tee peeking above the neckline underneath, he’d be kept quite warm. They’d had to stick with the wrap-around shoes for now, though he’d commented on their lack of sturdiness.

The checkout lady made the mistake of asking if he wanted to fill out a complaint form as well, to which he answered quite firmly, “Je ne leur reproche pas d'être effrayé.” He then broke from Alouette’s side willingly for the first time to actively seek out and thank the assistant.

He was far too kind-hearted. She was going to need to keep an eye on him, lest someone nefarious take advantage.

Once they were done with the clothes it was just past 1:00pm and John’s stomach sounded like it was staging a riot. John himself didn’t react to it at all.

“Would you like to eat out today?”

He frowned. “We have more to do and we’ve already taken up a lot of time.”

“We can grab something to go.” Alouette grinned. “We could get S’Moa and really upset Sampo.”

John just raised an eyebrow.

* * *

One Ground Pounder with Cheese Meal later, John felt almost bloated. It was  _fantastic_. Not to mention he’d found out the hood on his shirt– apparently classed as ‘oversized’– comfortably covered his head. Meagre protection if any, but it was easier to tune out the movement and staring around him and focus on following Alouette.

He was going to have to pay her back somehow. He just didn’t know  _how_. He’d insisted on carrying all the bags not only for the clothing but the food as well, and he distracted himself from the closed quarters and bright colours of the megamart by mulling over what few options he had.

She was going completely out of her way for his sake, they all were. And John was utterly lost in this post-amnesia world since whatever came before must have been completely removed from civilian life. He knew she’d spent a lot of money on him today, but he didn’t know how that cost would impact her or the Crew. He did know that his presence disrupted their home (and Fiona in particular remained wary), but none of them took issue with the change. They just… factored him in.

What he felt most keenly was the contact. The rest of the world seemed to fear him, and now that he was thinking about it he realised he sort of expected it. But… Alouette, Mochou, Sampoorna, Riley– they weren’t afraid. They  _touched_  him and they were  _generous_  with it. He barely had time to feel the lack of it before someone else’s hand was on him, his arm or back or side. Even Changming, who he’d spoken to exactly twice, seemed to love patting whatever part of John he could reach whenever he got near enough.

Mochou was the most tactile so far, happy to press herself against him wherever they sat or stood or lay. A day and a half ago, when he’d fallen asleep by accident while she was talking about her day at work, she’d simply dozed off next to him! He’d woken to her warmth, soft and small, curled into him, and he realised someone as vulnerable and trusting as her would need to be looked after.

They all would be, really, though Alouette less so. She was a Helljumper, no mistake, but it didn’t change the fact that John was physically superior even to her. That was alright, though– he was a frontline fighter by preference, built to take massive punishment and keep going, boots in the dirt and bullets in the enemy; Alouette’s priority would be getting her civilian family to safety.

If it came to that.

John hoped it wouldn’t, he honestly did. The last thing he wanted was for any of these kind people to be in danger. But it felt… inevitable. Things didn’t stay quiet, even with the war over. Not when John was around. The least he could do was get them out alive.  _Please, please let them get out alive_ …

“John?”

He jerked to a stop, mercifully pulled from a spiral he couldn’t begin to understand. But he was suddenly all too aware of how out in the open he was, exposed in more ways than one, and there were so many  _people_ , moving and staring and muttering–

“Are you alright?”

He nodded, silently berating himself. It was too easy to get lost in the confusing jumble of his untethered thoughts. As long as he focused on their objective and didn’t let his mind wander like that again, he could keep going.

Realising he’d hunched somewhat, John tried to relax his body a fraction, but immediately missed the extra coverage the posture gave his hood.

Then he noticed Alouette looking at him like she’d come to a decision. “We have the essentials. We will go to the checkout, then home.”

His shoulders slumped in relief.

* * *

Sampoorna was annoyed and taking it out on her wife. She was listing things that the Crew had requested that hadn’t been bought. She was silenced when Alouette explained that their amnesiac friend had been obviously distressed in the sensory-overload environment of the megamart.

Outside the kitchen door, hearing every word, John felt worthless.

Alouette had deemed him too emotionally compromised to complete the supply run effectively. She’d bagged the bare essentials and got him out of there, and he’d been relieved. Hell, he’d actually  _wanted_  to squeeze back into the cramped confines of the car just for the privacy.

They should have got the food first. They’d wasted time on clothing he could do without for now. He shouldn’t have let his hunger turn his head, should have persuaded Alouette to press onwards. He should have been more focused. He should have paid more attention.

Mochou exited one of the other rooms, and smiled and waved upon seeing him. He remembered it was a half day shift for her today.

“Hi John! I love your clothes, you look really good!”

He moved away from the door, hoping the couple beyond it were too engrossed in their conversation to hear either of them.

“Thank you.” He meant it. He didn’t want to mean it. He didn’t want to be so affected by these spontaneous, shallow compliments. He knew what he looked like and he knew it wasn’t good. What did it matter? Why let himself be moved by lies?

(Because they were kind.)

John hated to take the smile off her face, but he had to admit to his fault even as it burned in his guts. “We could only get the basic essentials.”

The smile faltered but did not leave. “Yā… bummer. Guess I’ll have to bake some snacks then! Thanks for letting me know.”

“It’s because of me.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but it was important. It was important that Mochou know he was compromised, a liability. She was expending so much on his behalf and he had to tell her that he wasn’t worth it.

But her round face gentled and John had to try and swallow past the unexpected lump in his throat.

“That’s okay.” Those dark eyes widened, as if she’d seen something alarming. “Hēi, John, it’s okay. Trust me, we’ve all gotten upset at the store sometime or other. I mean, the essentials is pretty good– I just ran right out of the building and left the basket in the frozen aisle last time I starting crying in Coney’s.”

John didn’t respond– didn’t know how– and Mochou stepped into his space and wrapped her arms around his body. A shudder ran down his spine as he relaxed at last, and he carefully returned the gesture.

“I don’t know…” He started, slowly, trying to put the right words in the right places. He felt so overwhelmed. “ _Why_  I can’t… focus. Aim for the objective. Ignore everything else.” He stopped. It wasn’t anywhere near everything he was trying to say, but he’d run out of steam.

After a long moment, tense-jawed, he managed, “I have too much time to think.”

“Or,” Mochou interjected gently, “you’ve been too busy for too long. It’s okay to take the time to process, and it’s okay if you’re not okay.”

… What?

“I mean, we can definitely find more things for you to do now you’re feeling better, we’re not trying to coop you up all bored, but maybe a day shopping is a bit too much all at once?”

Of course it wasn’t okay. He  _had_  to be okay, people were relying on him.

“… John?”

_What people?_  Relying on him for what? All these thoughts, all these flimsy certainties existed in a vacuum and he felt as though this grounding embrace was the only thing keeping him from drifting away, unmoored.

Small, soft arms squeezed John’s torso tighter and he felt a little more real. He took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. He felt the distant urge to apologise, but refrained.

Swallowing again, John said thickly, “What are you going to bake?”

“Hmm… I think cookies.” Mochou pulled her head up to look at him, and he did the same. “Want to help me make them?”

Just the two of them in the kitchen, following basic instructions.  _Yes_ , John thought,  _I can do that_.


	4. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John completes his follow-up mission successfully, and begins planning the next.

Mochou  _loved_  cookies. Everyone in the Crew loved cookies, and that made it the perfect family snack! Seeing everyone she loved that still lived huddled round a big plate of cookies on an afternoon was always a wonderful feeling.

She hoped John would get that feeling, too. He was being much too harsh on himself. No one was expecting him to be a 100% functional member of society in his state, but even such a minor hiccup as getting a little overwhelmed at the store– well, okay, backtrack. They both believed it was minor, but where Mochou thought he’d held out really well and had nothing to be ashamed of, John seemed distraught that he’d ever felt like that.

No, that wasn’t quite right either… he’d told her before they started baking prep that he didn’t know why he couldn’t  _ignore_  what had caused his distress. And just days ago he’d agreed to go on Chatternet with little prompting mere minutes after a panic attack, one that he’d  _apologised for_  no less. It wasn’t too much of a stretch to figure out that John seemed intent on powering through any kind of negative emotional response rather than actually  _feeling_  it.

Which was… not healthy. At all. But he’d opened up to Mochou, just a little, and what she’d said seemed to have had some kind of impact. It was a little daunting, how much stock John seemed to put in her. He initiated sweet little touches now– weird touches, admittedly, his knuckles nudging her side or a gentle cat-like headbutt– but only with her. He certainly enjoyed more involved contact and it didn’t make him jerk in shock anymore, but anything coming from him was brief.

She was suddenly shaken out of her thoughts when she noticed how still it was in the kitchen. Blinking back to reality, Mochou pushed her glasses back up her nose and realised John had successfully assembled the ingredients, but was now staring at them motionless. He always seemed to turn to marble when not doing something purposeful. She didn’t know how to tell him that he was allowed to take up space.

Quickly, she turned back to the implements she’d gathered– and stopped. Turning back to John, latched onto an idea, she walked up to his rigid back and headbutted it.

Ow. Muscles.

Rubbing her forehead, she looked up to see John had half-turned and was smiling fondly. Well, technically a success then!

“Alright John!” Mochou declared, trying to sound like a drill sergeant despite her grin. John tilted his head slightly, looking amused. “We have everything we need to begin. But first! We must check that the oven has preheated, so it will be at the perfect temperature when the cookies are ready to begin baking! That is  _key!_ ”

“Aye aye, ma’am!”

It quickly became apparent that John was an absolute delight to cook with. He was nowhere near as disruptive as anyone else who tried to help, contentedly and carefully following her instructions. Watching him mix together the butter and sugar was mesmerising; he wasn’t just careful, he was  _precise_. He didn’t make a mess showing off (cough cough  **Alouette** ) but he didn’t over-correct either.

“That looks smooth enough, I think! You’re really good at this.” He looked rather pleased with himself, she thought. She’d have to praise him more often! “Now we need to beat the eggs into the mixture–” She glanced up then yelled,  “One at a time!”

He stopped dead, looking sheepish. Mochou had to take a second; he claimed to have never baked anything before, as far as he could tell, but he’d scooped both eggs up in one hand and expertly cracked the first in his fingers before moving to the second in his palm almost before she could see it!

And John had caught himself even faster.

“… Your reflexes are  _crazy_  good, you know that?” That got another little smile, so she was on the right track with the praise. “Are you sure you’ve never baked anything before?”

“I’m sure.”

“I’m not! You’re cracking eggs like a professional.”

The fortunately un-cracked egg was placed back on the counter, while the empty shell of the other was set in the compost container. “It’s physics.”

“Physics?”

“Distribution of force. The tip of an ovoid is the strongest part of its shape, while the longer sides are weaker to uneven force.”

 _Physics_.

“I’m starting to think you don’t need little old me bossing you around.” Mochou teased.

“I don’t want you to feel extraneous.” John was smirking, the cheeky beaver, as he started mixing the egg in with the same precision as before. Was that physics, too?

Giggling, Mochou decided she may as well grab a drink and pull up a chair. “Alright then Mr. Physics, since the cookies are in such capable hands, I officially declare myself Kitchen Supervisor!”

John’s snort was  _nearly_  drowned out by the whirring of the whisk.

* * *

“Did he follow the instructions at all?” Riley laughed, looking at the cooling cookies.

“He followed all of them!” At their look, Mochou relented. “Except one.”

The instructions had read ‘2 cups of chocolate chips’, and for the first time in the process John had frowned– and gone rogue.

“There’s more chocolate than cookie in here! He’s a chocolate fiend Mousy, you’ve got to be careful with those. It’s how I lured him into talking to me one-on-one.”

Mochou had been too busy shrieking with laughter to try and stop him, to be fair. He’d been so meticulous every step of the way and then just dumped as many chocolate chips in there as he could.

She started snickering as she wondered if he’d mathematically calculated the optimum chip-to-dough ratio.

Riley gave her a weird look. “I just told him I was making hot chocolate, it wasn’t anything–”

“No, no, no…” Mochou tried to squash her laughter, “he used physics to- to figure out how best to prep the ing-ingredients.”

After a little more smothered giggling, Riley shook their head amusedly. “Guess you had to be there.”

Then they grabbed a still-warm cookie and ran.

“ _Hēi!_ ”

* * *

“Alright, ” Davis began, “where are the cookies?”

Sampoorna’s disapproving voice cut in immediately. “Davis, we have only now eaten our dinner. Patience is a virtue.”

“You know I respect your sensible decisions, bien-aimé–”

“You ate that S’Moa filth at lunchtime. You do not need cookies, you need the vitamins found in fresh phal!”

“Once will not make me a slob–”

“And to drag John there–”

“He is not a child–”

“Okay!” Changming threw his hands in the air. “No arguing at the dinner table!” After a beat of silence, he continued. “Where are the cookies?”

“Changming!”

“See,  _that’s_  what I’m saying.”

“Davis has the right idea.” Riley vouched. “They are top notch today.”

Mochou huffed. “Funny, I remember you complaining.”

“I did no such thing! I’ll sue you for libel!”

Changming cut in again, in his most annoying, most wheedling whiny-little-brother voice. “Jiě _jiěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěěě_ …”

“Xíng!” She couldn’t say anything else, as it was drowned out by cheering. They all knew what a capitulation sounded like.

John contemplated crossing his fingers, but decided to just wait.

He needn’t have worried.

“Man, Riley, you were  _so_  right. Thank you Mo!”

“Davis! Do not spray chewed cookie across the table!”

“What, I’m not–”

“Actually, I didn’t…” Mochou trailed off, seeing the sudden shift in John’s expression. Fortunately, though she looked confused, she instead bit her lip as she tried to think of a way to finish her sentence.

Alas, Riley.

“Yeah, John made this lot. Followed the steps to the letter then right at the last minute flung caution to the wind.”

“Yay, John! Best cookies!” Changming stretched across the table to firmly pat John’s arm.

“Good decision.” Davis affirmed, flashing John a grin. “You don’t measure chocolate chips in numbers, man, you measure that shit with your heart.”

“John should make cookies  _all_ the time!” Changming continued, grinning at his sister’s glare. “Aww come on, you make loads of things!”

“Merci beaucoup.” Alouette said, though her mouth was full so it sounded more like  _Murphy buckoo_.

“De rien.” He answered.

“Yes, thank you John. These are very lovely.” Sampoorna smiled warmly, a far cry from her earlier protests.

He dipped his head in acknowledgment.

More thanks made their way to him, but it wasn’t a huge… thing. They just said thank you and enjoyed the cookies. That was… that was nice. He was glad they liked them.

(He liked them, too.)

* * *

Rolling over, John pried his eyes open and read the time.

0400 on the dot. As usual.

“Good morning, John.”

“Tenzin.”

“Would you like your music?”

“Not today, thank you.” He had things to do this morning.

He heaved himself out of bed and into the bathroom. The novelty of such a wonderful en suite shower hadn’t worn off yet, and he took yet another leisurely five minutes. He came out smelling faintly floral but also a little like vanilla. That novelty hadn’t worn off either. And when the time came that he had to leave this wonderful place he’d be sorely tempted to steal these towels.

He… didn’t like to think about leaving. But he knew he’d have to. He never got to stay. Until then, however, he would keep on.

Pulling on yesterday’s soft clothes again (they were so soft and warm) he quietly left the room and walked silently to the kitchen. Once there, he turned to the holographic podium on the counter as Tenzin popped up again.

Already pulling out the mugs each member of the household used the most, John asked, “I know how Mochou likes her coffee. What about the rest?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's Tabula Rasa finished... stay tuned for much, much more!


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